Attack of the Mutant Zombie-Werewolves
by Khell
Summary: It's the weekend before Halloween, back in 1988. Strange things are happening in D.C. An agent has been murdered in an unusually gruesome way. Francine Desmond and her partner Effrom Beaman are sent to investigate - and find someone who's been dead for years. Well, supposedly ...
1. Chapter 1

Ok, so I thought I'd write a Halloween story. Cos I had this really odd dream and even while I was dreaming I caught myself thinking: "Dang, you must NOT forget this, this'll make an excellent Halloween story for SMK!" So I started writing it down. And it's turning out to be longer than I thought. This is why I'll be slow with posting updates - I don't have the whole story written, yet, and since I'm gonna take part in National Novel Writing Month, I won't be able to continue working on it during November.

So - just a short chapter today, right on time for Halloween! More to follow soon! :)

* * *

"You are destined to be together forever."

"Uh - what?"

Francine looked up at the old woman - though the term "crone" might have been more fitting - who had seemingly materialized out of thin air next to the table at which she and Beaman were sitting. Everything about the woman's appearance screamed 'gypsy:' her clothes, the red scarf tied around her head, the large golden hoops dangling from her ears, the golden bangles around her wrists jingling softly when she moved her arms. Francine was sure she hadn't seen the gypsy enter. She would have noticed since she sat facing the entrance.

The woman gave her a toothless grin.

"You two; you are destined to be together forever. You believe Mama Fortuna. She knows."

Francine opened her mouth to tell her to go bother someone else. Politely, of course because even though she didn't believe in the power of gypsy curses, she knew more than enough about the principle of self-fulfilling prophecies to be on her guard. But the woman obviously was done because she laughed - cackled, actually, which got her quite some looks from the other tables and the counter - turned and left through the door.

Beaman shook his head and blinked.  
"What was that?" he asked.

Francine shrugged.  
"Probably Lee's idea of a Halloween prank."

Of course, Lee would have noticed she and Beaman were spending quite a little time together recently, and not just on their assignments. It had started with 'just drinks, that's it' at Nedlinger's after an important assignment had gone spectacularly right. As in: The whole Agency knew about it and even Smyth had been duly impressed. So Francine had to accept Beaman's request to go to Nedlinger's to celebrate. All the others had been there too, after all. Perfectly harmless.

At some point, they had moved on to drinks every Friday. No dinner, though, because that would have been too much like dating and Francine was determined to keep her private and professional lives separated as much as possible. When you didn't, things could get messy pretty fast. And besides, Beaman wasn't exactly her type.

Or so she kept telling herself.

She had to admit, though, that he made up for much more interesting company than many of the men she usually went for. There was less bragging, for example, about things like 'my house, my yacht, my Porsche,' and more real conversation. He was pretty smart, actually, which was great because she didn't have to be careful to not say things that went right over his head.

Of course, someone trained to notice things - like Scarecrow - would have noticed them leaving work together every Friday. It wouldn't be very hard to find out where they went. And it was only a question of time until Lee would start to tease her about Beaman.

"He's a little early", Beaman pointed out. "Halloween isn't until Monday."

"Well, Halloween weekend starts at midnight, which is in …"  
Francine checked her watch.  
"One hour? Gosh, I really should be going home!"

They had been sitting here and talking for five hours.

"What, already?"  
Beaman gave her that disappointed look of his that always reminded her of a kicked puppy. Sometimes it worked but today it wouldn't.

"I have to be at the Agency early tomorrow. We're starting the Great Annual Review and I promised to help."

"On a Saturday?"

Francine shrugged.  
"Tradition. We always start it on Halloween Saturday so we have it all finished by New Year's Eve."

And it might not be such a bad idea to spend less time with Beaman. She seemed to be growing a little too fond of him recently; looking forward to Friday night a bit too much.

It was all about balance… You had to keep the right balance. Let people get too close to you and things would probably end in a disaster. Keep them at too huge a distance and you couldn't work with them properly. Especially not when you were supposed to work together as a team.

As far as Francine was concerned, she and Beaman had found that perfect balance. They were just close enough to be a good team but not too close like, for example, Lee and Amanda.

Fortunately Beaman was smart enough not to suggest certain things or hint at others. And of course she, too, knew better than to do or say anything that might tip the scales one way or another.

They finished their drinks. As usual, Beaman insisted on walking her to her car and waiting until she had started the motor. Francine had told him again and again it wasn't necessary but he insisted, claiming it was more for his peace of mind than her safety and besides, it was only polite, wasn't it?

By the time she arrived home at her apartment, she had completely forgotten about the old gypsy.

* * *

The next morning, she was surprised to find Beaman waiting for her in the Georgetown foyer.

"Mr. Melrose called me," he said before she could ask what he was doing there, "he said he wants us in his office."

Francine nodded.

_Looks like I might not be helping with the Annual Review after all …_


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the next part. Sorry for the slow posting but since I'm not currently working on that story, I don't wanna run out of material to post. I'm totally busy with my project for National Novel Writing Month. But I promise I will finish this one here in December.

* * *

Billy seemed to have been waiting for them. As soon as they entered the bullpen, he beckoned them to his office. He closed the door and adjusted the blinds so they couldn't be seen by the other agents.

Francine exchanged a quick glance with Beaman. As far as she remembered they hadn't done anything recently that would warrant a dressing-down. Beaman shrugged.

_Someone told him about that gypsy from last night and now he wants to know if there's anything to it._

Billy walked around his desk but didn't sit down. He put his hand on a thin file folder on his desk. For one short, awkward moment Francine thought he had put together a file on her and Beaman – on everything that indicated they might be more than just partners or friends. Which, of course, was absolute nonsense since they really only were friends and besides it was really unfair because he didn't mind Lee and Amanda being together, did he?

She realized at once however, that she was just being paranoid. Why on Earth should Billy compile a file on her and Beaman? What a ridiculous idea.

Billy didn't seem inclined to say anything, so Francine decided to take the initiative.

"You wanted to see us?"

Billy nodded.  
"Yes, I …"  
He took in a deep breath.  
"Parker was found dead last night."

"Parker? Anthony Parker?"  
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Francine.

"He started working for the Agency two years ago," Beaman said. "He was in my classes."

Billy nodded.  
"Right. That's why I called you."  
He tapped the folder on his desk with his index finger.  
"At first, I thought it was – well, a normal killing. That he had run into someone, found out about something and they decided to dispose of him. Then, I got these. Photos from the scene. And the preliminary report from forensics."  
He picked up the folder and held it out to Beaman.  
"You might want to sit down."

Beaman remained standing and took the folder from Billy. Francine leaned closer to her partner so she could see the folder's content. Beaman barely glanced at the report from forensics and moved on to the photos taken at the scene of Parker's death. Francine heard him take in a sharp breath. She was glad he quickly closed the folder again so she didn't get the chance to take in too many details.

"Who – _what_ did this?" Beaman asked.

Billy shook his head.  
"The preliminary says it could have been some kind of large animal. I don't see how an animal large enough to kill Parker in such a way could go unnoticed in the city though."

Francine saw Beaman tighten his grip on the folder.  
"I want this case," he said.

"That's why I called you. Parker was one of your recruits."  
Billy nodded at the folder.  
"If you need any help – anything at all – let me know."

"We will."  
Beaman gave him a tense smile. He seized Francine's elbow and steered her to the door.

* * *

They retreated to Beaman's office two levels down.

"Where do we start?" Francine asked.

She knew, of course, but this was Beaman's case so she wanted to let him call the shots.

"You try to find out what Parker was working on," he told her. "And I'm going to take a closer look at those photos and talk to forensics. They might know more by now."

Standard procedure. If they both came up empty their next step would be to search Parker's apartment. Still, Francine hesitated. It was completely irrational but she didn't want to leave her partner alone with those photos. Especially since she knew he was taking this way too personally. Of course it wasn't his fault Parker had been killed, but he would find a way to take at least part of the blame.

Beaman gave her a slight frown.

"Is there anyone who should be notified?" she asked.

He shook his head.  
"Parker's parents are dead and he had no brothers or sisters. He always was a bit of a loner."  
His gaze turned thoughtful and Francine could almost hear him add: _Just like me._

She wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone, and that he would be missed a great deal by more than a few people.  
"Meet you here again in an hour?" she said instead.

Beaman nodded.  
"An hour should be enough to find out something."

* * *

So for the next hour Francine sorted through all of Parker's papers and checked his computer searches. One name kept coming up: Dr. Louis Moran. She tried to find out more about him but kept hitting roadblock after roadblock. Obviously, someone out there didn't want anyone to get closer acquainted with Dr. Moran or his work. She decided to let Beaman take care of that. Maybe he knew a way to get around those roadblocks.

The other thing she found was a slip of paper with a Rockville address scribbled on it. Francine decided to take it to Beaman too. Parker must have written it down for a reason.

Beaman barely glanced at her when she rejoined him in his office. He had spread the crime scene photos on the floor, one next to the other.

"Do you see anything unusual?" he asked.

Francine took in a deep breath and forced herself to take a closer look at the photos. She was glad they were in black and white because if they had been in color she didn't think she could have.

"You mean other than that he was literally torn apart?" she said.

Beaman glanced at her.  
"I talked to forensics. They said that, judging from the claw marks, it might have been a bear. Some things don't fit, though. Bears don't kill like this. And …"  
He picked up one of the photos.  
"See that?" he asked.

_I'm trying not to …_

"Bite marks," Francine pointed out.

"Yes. Too small for a bear, at least compared to the claw marks."

"So we still don't know who or what killed Parker."

Beaman nodded.

"Maybe we should concentrate on the why, then," Francine suggested. "It might lead us to the who

Her partner finally did turn away from the photos and to her.  
"Yes, and we should try to find out where he was killed, too. It couldn't have been where they found him. There wasn't enough blood."  
He blinked and shook his head.  
"So what did you find?" he asked.

Francine told him about Dr. Louis Moran. Beaman straightened at her mentioning running into problems when she had tried to find out more about him.

"Let's see what we can do about that."  
He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer. Francine stood behind him looking over his shoulder. She directed him to the file she had found which had given her Moran's full name and little else. Beaman frowned.

"That's a CIA file," he pointed out.

"Yes. With lots and lots of red tape wrapped around it. This is as far as I got. I thought you might be able to dig a little deeper."

"I can try. Of course, that's not the official way."

"No, the official way would keep us busy 24/7 till next summer without getting us anywhere," Francine said.

Beaman raised his eyebrows.  
"And here I thought you always stuck to the rules."

"Only when I can't get away with breaking them."

Shaking his head Beaman returned his attention to the computer screen.

Francine watched him enter a string of numbers and commands that all went way over her head. She didn't even bother trying to decipher the text that flickered across the screen. That was Beaman's domain.

Suddenly he cursed, making her jump.

"What?" she asked.

"They put a tracker program on that file. I just activated it."  
He frantically tapped away on his keyboard for several minutes.  
"Damn."  
He hit his desk with his fist.  
"They got me."  
His computer screen went blank.  
"And pulled the plug."  
He exchanged a look with Francine.

"Do they know who you are?" she asked.

"Hard to tell. They do know where I am, though."

"Okay, then we better get to Billy and tell him we might be in trouble."  
Francine reached for the phone.

It chose that exact moment to ring.

They exchanged another look.

"That was quick," Beaman murmured.

He wanted to pick up the phone. Francine slapped his hand aside and picked up the receiver herself. It had been her idea to try to take a short cut so it was only fair if it was her getting in trouble for it.

"IFF, Francine Desmond."

No answer. She could hear someone breathing at the other end, though.

Then, after a few moments:  
"Francine?"

A male voice. It sounded familiar. Francine tried to connect it to a name. A matching face came up in her mind.

"Brian?" she asked. "Brian Palmer?"

They had been going out a few times some years ago. Nothing even remotely serious but he had been fun to be with.

"Yes." Palmer laughed. "Been a while, huh?"

"Yes."  
Francine smiled.  
"So – Brian. What can I do for you?"

"Uh."  
He sounded a little embarrassed now.  
"Did you just try to get into our file on Dr. Louis Moran?" he asked.

"Why, would that be a problem?" Francine countered his question with one of her own.

"Yes. It's classified."  
Embarrassment giving way to indignation.

_Oh great. Don't make him angry or he'll shut down and tell you nothing._

She sighed.  
"Okay. You caught me. Yes, I did try to get into his file."

Beaman gestured at her and then himself, probably trying to tell her to tell Brian it had been him, not her. She ignored him.

"Why?" Brian asked. "What's your interest in Moran's work?"

Francine thought she detected a hint of wariness.  
"His name popped up in one of our investigations. I'm interested in the man, not his work."

"Which investigation?"

She hesitated and exchanged a glance with Beaman. How much should she tell Brian?  
"Well … I can't tell you much. One of our people was killed last night. He might have been investigating Moran but I won't know for sure until I know more about the man."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line.

"Do you think Moran's still alive?" Brian finally asked.

Francine frowned.  
"Isn't he?"

If he was dead then why had Parker been so interested in him?

"Well, we have him listed as dead. But if he's still alive and somewhere out there …"  
The wariness in Brian's voice had turned into undisguised alarm which, in turn, put Francine on the alert.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing."  
She could picture Brian's tight smile in her mind.  
"Fine. What will you tell me about him that you're not supposed to?"

More silence.

"Okay, here's the deal: If anyone asks, I didn't tell you anything. I didn't even talk to you. And you keep me updated on everything you find out about Moran."

"I think I can agree to that," Francine told him.

"Right."

She heard Brian take in a deep breath.  
"Moran was working for the CIA back in the sixties – in research, conducting experiments. I can't go into detail here. They went spectacularly wrong and he was shut down. He supposedly killed himself not long after that. If he's still alive …"

"You think he might have carried on with his experiments?" Francine asked.

"Well, I heard he was really obsessed so that's definitely a possibility. _If_ he's still alive."

"Of course, if that's the case he wouldn't want anyone to find out about it," Francine pointed out. "Parker was on to him and Moran disposed of him."

She saw no point in telling Brian how Parker had been killed. He wouldn't have believed her anyways. Not without seeing the photos and she couldn't show him those.

"If Moran's still alive."  
A short pause.  
"Be careful, Francine. Very careful. That man's a lunatic."

Francine smiled.  
"Don't worry, I'm not going after him alone."  
She looked at Beaman who raised his eyebrows in a silent question.  
"Thanks for the information, Brian. I'll keep you updated."  
She hung up and turned to her partner.  
"We got lucky. I happened to know the guy who tracked you."

"Yes, I got _that_," Beaman said with a slight frown.

Francine rolled her eyes.  
"Just because I know him and happen to like him that doesn't mean you have to dislike him."

"It doesn't mean I have to like him either."  
Beaman put his hands in his pockets. He always did that, Francine noticed, when he was upset or annoyed.

"I've been on this job for a while. You get around and get to know people."  
She didn't know why she felt the need to defend herself for knowing Brian Palmer.

"Oh, the problem isn't that you know people. It's that you _know_ people."  
Beaman's frown deepened.  
"Because you _know_ a whole lot of people."

"Which is none of your business," Francine snapped at him. "We're partners, not _partners_."

They glared at each other. It was Beaman who finally gave in. He sighed. His shoulders sagged.

"You're right of course. Sorry."  
He nodded at the phone.  
"So what else did your friend tell you?"

"Acquaintance," Francine corrected him without thinking.

She didn't know why but it seemed very important he got that straight. Brian Palmer was a nice guy but not a friend.

The hint of a smile appeared on Beaman's face.  
"Whatever. What did he say?"

Francine recounted to him what Palmer had told her on the phone. He nodded.

"Sounds like we might be on to something," he said.

"We also might want to check out this address."  
Francine showed him the slip of paper she had found.  
"He must have written it down for a reason."

"Rockville. That's not too far from where I live. Why don't we go check it out? And drop by Parker's apartment on the way, just to make sure we didn't miss anything."

"Sounds good. Let's go."

Francine couldn't get out of the office and away from those gruesome photos on the floor fast enough. They dropped by at Billy's office on the way out to give him a quick update on where they were going and what they had found out.

"Be careful," he told them. "I want you to call in every one and a half hours. You miss two calls, I'll send the cavalry after you."

Francine frowned.  
"Do you know something we don't know?" she asked.

"Only rumours. But your friend –"

"Acquaintance," both Francine and Beaman cut him off simultaneously.

Billy raised his eyebrows and gave them an amused look.  
"Your _acquaintance_ is right. Moran is a dangerous man. Provided he's still alive."

"It won't stop us from bagging him if he's the one behind Parker's murder," Beaman said.

Billy nodded.  
"Of course not."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay. Was away this weekendand didn't get to post the new chapter until now ...

* * *

They headed for Parker's apartment first. When they walked down the long corridor towards his door, Francine felt increasingly on edge; an almost ominous sense of foreboding. She didn't know where it came from. It was an ordinary corridor, the lights weren't particularly dim and they didn't flicker. Something just felt wrong. Maybe because she knew Parker was dead.

She glanced at Beaman. He felt it, too. His right hand was slightly raised, ready to reach for his gun. She had tried to break him off that habit but so far, her efforts had been in vain.

As they drew closer she thought she detected a faint smell that didn't fit in with the other smells. She wasn't sure if she wasn't just imagining it but it sent a chill down her spine.

_Death. It smells of death._

She immediately pushed that thought away and chastised herself for being such a drama queen.

The lock on Parker's door was broken.

Francine drew her gun and gestured to Beaman she would enter first. He frowned but didn't object. When they had first started working together they'd had endless discussions about situations like this. It had taken a session at both the range and the gym to convince him that Francine wasn't only a better shot but also outmatched him in hand-to-hand combat and thus, should be the one to enter potentially dangerous situations first. At least until he had improved his skills - which he tried but since Francine did the same, so far, nothing had changed. Beaman didn't like it. Not at all. But as long as he didn't argue that was quite alright with Francine.

Gun at the ready she gave Parker's door a nudge with her foot. It swung open with a soft creak.

Francine couldn't pretend she had been prepared for the gruesome tableau presenting itself. It wasn't totally unexpected though. After seeing those photos of Parker's mangled body, she had known there would be a lot of blood at the scene of his murder. She heard Beaman take in a sharp breath. She herself tried to breathe as little as possible. And to keep a tight grip on herself.

_At least, I didn't imagine the smell …_

It definitely was there, the cloying, sweet metallic smell of blood, even though most of it must have dried by now.

For a moment Francine remained where she was, still with her gun in her hand, taking in the mess before her and telling herself she wouldn't scream or gag or do anything else unprofessional. Even though this was worse than anything she'd ever seen before.

There had been a fight – that much was sure. A brutal and relentless fight for life and death. Whoever – or whatever – had come for Parker, he hadn't done them the favor of rolling over on his back and dying quietly.

The furniture had been knocked over. One of the chairs was reduced to splinters. Blood – a whole lot of blood – had soaked the carpet dyeing it a dark rusty red. The walls were spattered with it. In two, three spots, it had even reached the ceiling.

Some of the details, Francine knew she wouldn't forget again anytime soon. The dark red splashes on the beautiful white orchid on the window sill. Five parallel cuts in the armchair's upholstery. The filling was spilling out. Similar scratches across the wall to her right.

"The neighbors must have heard something," Francine said.

"Yes. Let's go and ask them."  
She felt Beaman start to move.

"No. First, we check Parker's apartment and call in for a forensics team."  
She hesitated for a second.  
"Stay right behind me and watch my back," she told him. "I don't think there's anyone here but …"

She didn't finish. If whoever had killed Parker was still here they were as good as dead.

She carefully started to pick her way across the room avoiding the blood-stained part of the carpet as best as she could. Behind her, she heard Beaman check the bedroom and the bathroom.

"Nothing," he told her.

Francine put her gun back in her shoulder-holster and scanned the room for the phone. She found it on the floor by the window. The cord had been ripped out of the socket but it looked undamaged so she plugged it back in and checked if the phone was still working. She got a dial tone. She exchanged a look with Beaman who was waiting by the bedroom door and dialed Billy's number. He picked up almost at once.

"Billy, it's me," she said before he had a chance to speak. "You might want to send a forensics team to Parker's apartment. He obviously was killed here."

"Right, I'll send someone right there. Stay until they arrive."

"You also might want to warn them," she quickly went on before he could hang up. "This place looks like something right out of a horror movie. Think cheap midnight screening splatter."

A pause at the other end of the line.  
"Will do. You and Beaman okay?"

Francine again glanced at her partner. He looked a little pale – but then, she supposed, so did she.  
"I don't know. Guess we won't find out till later."  
She would have to wait until tonight to see if any of this caused any nightmares.

"Just hang in there. Forensics should be there soon."  
Billy hung up.

Francine carefully put the phone down where she had picked it up and turned to Beaman.  
"Let's wait outside."

"One moment."

Beaman stepped over to the wall to take a closer look at the scratches. There were five, just like on the armchair, parallel, with the lowest one starting and ending a little after the other four.

"Do you see that?" he asked. "I don't know what made these but it definitely wasn't a bear. They're too close together and five instead of four."

Francine knew she didn't have to point out that a bear wouldn't have bothered taking Parker's body and dumping it elsewhere, either.

Beaman raised his hand, curled it into a claw and mimed striking at the wall. Francine was perfectly aware that if he really struck the wall like that he would leave marks similar to those scratches.

Still, she shook her head.  
"Wouldn't work. Look at how deep they are."

"Metal claws?" Beaman suggested. "Worn on your fingers?"

"And fake teeth for the bite marks? Why would anyone kill Parker in such a way?"

Beaman shrugged and turned to her.  
"Maybe to leave a message?"

"When you want to leave a message you don't try to hide the body. You leave it where it can be found easily."

"Didn't your CIA pal tell you Moran was a lunatic? Maybe he's lost it."

"So he's – what? Running around dressed up as some kind of monster with fake teeth and claws, killing people who might be on to him?"  
Again, Francine shook her head.  
"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, it's the weekend before Halloween. He wouldn't draw much attention, if any at all."

"We don't even know if he's still alive," Francine pointed out.

"Yes, there's quite some things I'd like to know about the good doctor and his experiments. Especially his experiments."  
Beaman frowned.  
"Do you think you could get more out of your friend if you went out with him?"

"Oh-ho!"  
Francine raised her eyebrows.  
"So suddenly he _is_ my friend and it _is_ okay to go out with him."

"You know which kind of 'go out' I mean …" Beaman said with a small smile.

"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't work. He doesn't talk about his job. Too many secrets to keep or so he always used to say."

Beaman nodded. He stepped away from the wall and cast a glance at the room.

"Let's wait outside," he suggested.

Francine wasn't going to argue with that.

* * *

When the forensics team arrived Francine told them they probably would find traces of her and Beaman in Parker's apartment. Talking to Parker's neighbours didn't yield any new information. Two weren't home and the third one was working night shifts as a security guard so had been out when Parker had been killed.

"Check out that address?" Beaman asked when they left the building.

Francine nodded. She glanced at her watch.  
"And we mustn't forget to call in with Billy in an hour."

She didn't want him to worry. Especially not with the report on the crime scene forensics was about to give him.

* * *

"Oh – it's that one," Beaman said when they reached their destination.

"You know it?"  
Francine looked at the house at the end of the street.

_Talking about horror movies …_

It was a creepy old house, there was no denying it – not even when you didn't believe in ghosts or other things supernatural. Once, it must have been a beautiful house, painted white and with a slate-grey roof. Now, most of the paint was gone or peeling off in large flakes. Tiles were missing on the roof. The window panes that weren't smashed reminded her of a blind man's milky white eyes. They were staring at her. Francine was sure of that. The house was looking right back at her.

The garden wasn't in any better shape. Weeds had taken over a long time ago, suffocating whatever flowers once grew there. The trees had shed most of their leaves. The bare, black branches reminded Francine of bony skeleton fingers.

The only thing missing to turn it into the very cliché of a horror movie house was a flock of vultures circling above it.

"The kids call it Bates' Motel," Beaman answered her question.

"Nice. And so original."

It could indeed have been the home – or former home – of a psychotic serial killer. Or the lair of a mad scientist.

"Doesn't look like anyone's been there, recently," Beaman went on.

Francine glanced at him.

"If you had gone into hiding and had chosen an abandoned house as your new base of operations you would hardly advertise it by fixing it up and tending garden, either," she pointed out.

"Of course not. But I see no sign of anyone having been there. Like trampled grass, for example. If anyone had been in or near the house they must have stepped somewhere, right?"

"Just because we can't see anything that doesn't mean there isn't anything."

"Let's go check?" Beaman suggested.

Francine hesitated.

She didn't like that house. It _was_ staring at her, no matter how silly that sounded. And it wasn't doing so in a friendly way.

_It's just an empty house_, she told herself. _You're being paranoid because you know how Parker died. This house might not even be connected to that. For all you know he could have been looking for the perfect location for his Halloween party._

Still –

"You go check," she told Beaman. "I'll stay here and watch your back. If Moran's still alive and this really is his new base, you don't want to run into him."

"Francine. No one's here. No car, not even a bike!"  
Beaman sounded slightly exasperated.

"He might come back while you're checking out the house."  
She knew he couldn't possibly argue with that.

Still, he tried.  
"There's no one there. That house has been just sitting there since its last owner died, way back when I was ten."

Francine folded her arms across her chest and glared at her partner.

"Alright, alright." He sighed. "Let's do this your way, then."

He made a great show of checking his gun before he got out of the car and slammed the door with a little more force than necessary.

Francine watched him slowly walk up to the house. She cast a glance in the rearview mirror to see if anyone might be watching him. The street was empty. Well, even if there had been people, Beaman hardly would have drawn any attention. He was from the area – people around here probably knew him.

He stopped by the fence, turned towards the house, as if lost in thought – childhood memories maybe – but Francine knew he was carefully checking the house and garden for signs of someone living there. After a moment, he continued up the driveway and to the house's front door. He knocked and waited. A minute or so passed. He knocked again, then grabbed the doorknob and gave it a twist.

Francine straightened in her seat.

"Don't you dare enter that house alone," she murmured.

If he went in there she would have no way of warning him if anyone arrived here. And besides, she didn't want him to go in there alone. She told herself that she was being perfectly rational about it. The house had been abandoned for a long time. Long enough for floorboards to rot through - or ceiling beams. There were about half a dozen things she could think up that could happen to him in there and none of them required anybody else's presence.

To her relief he let go of the doorknob again. Instead, he slowly made his way along the side and then the front of the house, at first on the porch then in the garden. Francine watched him struggle through the high, withered grass and tangled weeds leaving an all too visible trace. He rounded the house's corner and disappeared from her sight.

She waited. For quite a while. Forcing herself not to check her watch.

He was taking an awfully long time to come around the house.

Of course she knew – well, the rational part of her mind did – that only a few minutes had passed since she had lost sight of him but time always seemed to pass much slower when you were waiting.

She tried to ban all thoughts of Parker's apartment and the photos she had seen of his mutilated body from her mind. Because if she thought about those things too closely now she might just start to imagine Beaman running into Parker's killers while he was out of sight.

_Where is he? What's taking him so long?_

Long, as it turned out when she did check her watch now, was a relative term. Three minutes _could_ seem an awfully long time. Half an eternity.

Francine scowled at the house and settled deeper into her seat.

She should have gone with him. Staying here had been a stupid idea – how was she supposed to watch his back when she couldn't see the back of the house?

In the end, it took Beaman a full ten minutes to get around the house. By the time he approached the car Francine had decided she wouldn't let him get close to that house again under any circumstances. Next time, she would go. No matter how much it creeped her out or how much she felt it was watching her.

Beaman opened the door and slid into his seat.  
"Nothing," he said. "As far as I can tell, there's no one in there."

"As I told you," Francine pointed out.

* * *

Beaman gave his partner a long, thoughtful look. She seemed almost annoyed at him. Come to think of it, that seemed to happen a lot, lately. Her tone and general attitude were similar to when they first had started to work together. Back then, she had made it quite clear she was only putting up with him because she wanted to get back in the field and Mr. Melrose wouldn't let her without a partner.

They gradually had started to get along better – or rather, Francine gradually had come to realize that when he wasn't drunk and trying to hit on her he wasn't a complete idiot. Now, Beaman considered them something like friends. Not quite friends, yet. For that to happen, Francine would actually have to admit they were friends.

Not exactly what he wanted but it _was_ better than nothing and one hell of a lot more than he had thought he would ever get. Recently, though, it looked like they were heading back to square one – at least where the more personal side of their partnership was concerned. He didn't expect her to change her opinion about his capability as a field operative.

Francine glanced at him with a slight frown.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked.

He blinked and smiled.  
"Sorry. It's nothing, just thinking."

And he better not tell her he'd been thinking about her or else she would try even harder to distance herself from him. For that was what she was doing.

It wasn't that he didn't understand why.

First of all, keeping to yourself and not letting anyone get too close came with the job. Now that he was working in the field himself he finally understood. It was a dangerous business – being shot almost counted as death by natural cause. He himself was still relatively new to this part of the job but he knew there must be a point where you simply couldn't bear to lose yet another friend. So the logical thing to do was to not make any more friends. Or even like people.

He also knew that, so far, his partner hadn't exactly been particularly lucky with the men she had chosen to get serious about. There had been that thing with Stetson – Beaman had witnessed some of the fall-out personally. It hadn't been pretty and for quite a while, Francine hadn't even been on speaking terms with the great Scarecrow.

Then that Stone guy. Yes, alright, so he had come back to apologize and you probably had to give him bonus points for wanting to help his ex-fiancée when he thought she was in trouble. But in Beaman's eyes he lost those bonus points again because he actually had been the one to _get_ her _in_ trouble and, well – the guy was an idiot. Francine seemed to have been willing to give him another chance. That she had returned from their vacation together after one week instead of the intended two had spoken volumes – at least in Beaman's opinion. Long story short, Jonathan Stone had disappeared from her life again, this time – Beaman was pretty sure– with Francine's blessing. But not before he had managed to do a great deal of damage.

Since he knew all this he kept telling himself that he had to be patient. Which wasn't easy when you knew exactly what you wanted. He had known that ever since he had first realized she was just as smart as she was beautiful. One week into their basic training he had known she would go far. He had also known that she was way out of his league. He was good with computers so that was what he had specialized in. She had moved on to train to become a field operative. One of the "cool kids".

For years, he only ever had dared to approach her at the Agency's Christmas parties and only when he was drunk enough to make a complete fool of himself. Then, fate – or rather, Billy Melrose – had thrown them together as a team and suddenly, she wasn't as unreachable anymore. Yet, in a way, she was still as unreachable as ever. Being friends seemed to be okay with her. Being more – he didn't dare to even hint at it. He didn't want her to ask for a new partner after all.

It was like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey's nose.

A hand appeared in his field of vision. Hers.

"Earth to Beaman."

She waved her hand before his eyes.

He turned his head to look at her.

"Would you mind to stop thinking about whatever it is that you're thinking about? I'd like to discuss what to do next."

"Sure."  
He pushed up his glasses slightly to rub the bridge of his nose.  
"Sorry. – What do you suggest?" he asked.

"Well, we have two options: One, return to the Agency and tell Billy we didn't find anything. Or two, stay here for a while and watch the house."

"I'd like to stay and watch the house," Beaman said at once. "Parker must have been interested in it for a reason."

Francine nodded.  
"Yes, I think so, too. So I'll tell Billy we will be here for a while when I call in."

At least, they wouldn't have to go looking for a phone. The car was equipped with one. Too bad really, Beaman thought. A short walk might have helped him to clear his mind.

Francine looked at him with a slight frown.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes. I just have a lot on my mind recently."

If he was lucky she'd attribute it to Parker's death and their current assignment.

She sighed.  
"Same here."

He waited for her to continue but she didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm so sorry for the delay! I really meant to post a new chapter every week but - truth is, since I didn't manage to finish this story before NaNoWriMo and haven't quite recharged my writing batteries, yet, I'm running out of story to post ... Don't worry, I won't leave it unfinished but it'll take me a while to get the rest written and beta-ed.

* * *

They spent the next few hours sitting in the car and staring at the house. The weather didn't improve. It remained grey and cold and drizzly.

"So much for Indian Summer," Beaman murmured when a light rain set in.

Francine glanced at him but didn't say anything.

He got the hint. She didn't want to talk – not even about harmless stuff like the weather. So he remained silent until around noon when he suggested to go and grab some food at a nice little old-fashioned diner two streets around the corner. He knew she wouldn't mind to "grab some food". She might have objected to "have lunch" because, in her book, that might have sounded too much like having a date and of course that was exactly what she didn't want, at least not with him.

Francine considered his suggestion for a moment, then nodded.  
"Fine, let's go."

Lunch passed mostly in silence, too. Of course, Beaman could have made an effort to draw her out but he wasn't in the mood.

* * *

When they were back in the car, they called Billy. He had an update for them.

"Forensics came up with nothing in Parker's apartment," he said.

Francine was holding the receiver so that Beaman could listen to the conversation, too. She was aware her and Beaman's head were almost touching. Too close. Much too close. Close enough for her to smell his aftershave which was a good indicator of how close he was to her. He never put on much.

She realized she was missing what Billy was telling them.

"… amount of blood. They waited until he had bled out before they moved him."

"Did they take a closer look at the claw marks on the wall?" Beaman asked.

"Yes. You might be right. They might have been left by a human."  
Billy hesitated.  
"They're similar to the marks on Parker's body."

Francine glanced at her partner.

When they first had started working together she had given him six months. He hadn't seemed the type who could manage to take what he was feeling and lock it up until the job was done, as sometimes needed. He was learning fast though.

"That would explain why the bite and claw marks combined aren't matching any known animal," he said.

His voice sounded cold and matter-of-factly. It matched the expression on his face.

"What kind of person would do such a thing?" Francine asked. "Claw and bite someone to death?"

"That's what we have to find out," Beaman said.

"I want you to be very careful," Billy told them. "Whoever did it is a real psycho. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

Francine suppressed a sigh.  
"You know us, Billy."

"Yeah, that's why I'm telling you."

He hung up.

Francine hung up too and withdrew a little so she could turn to her partner without bumping her head against his. His expression was still the same – cold and distant. She didn't like to see him like that. It was a sign that he was starting to adapt to field work, which wasn't a bad thing as long as you didn't adapt too well. Kept too tight a grip on yourself until you didn't allow yourself to feel anything at all anymore.

She had been able to avoid making that mistake but then, her upbringing had been vastly different from his. She was used to pretending to be someone she was not. When to keep a grip on herself and when to let go. How to keep things from affecting her too much. Beaman still had to learn that.

_I'm sorry but I can't help you there. You've got to figure that one out all by yourself._

Everyone was different. Everyone had to find their own way of coping with what they had to do on the job.

* * *

"I don't think anything's going to happen here anytime soon."

Francine stretched her arms.

They had been sitting in the car watching the creepy old house for hours. All day long in fact, and now it was starting to get dark out.

When Beaman didn't answer she gave him a light poke in the side.

"Hey. Did you hear what I said?"

He glanced at her.  
"Yes, but I don't know if I agree."

Francine gave him an incredulous look.  
"What, you want to stay here all night?"

He didn't say anything but his look told her yes, indeed he _did _want to stay all night. And probably all of the next day if he considered it necessary.

She checked her watch and sighed.  
"Alright. It's half an hour till our next call to Billy. We'll just let him decide."

Beaman opened his mouth, probably to protest.

Francine raised her hand to stop him.  
"No, let me finish. Knowing you, you'll insist on us coming here again tomorrow. If we're going to, we need to get some rest. Now, I already said that I don't think Moran or anyone else will show up here. But if you think it's absolutely necessary I'll try to convince Billy to send another team to take over for us."

Beaman sighed.  
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm reading too much into Parker writing down this address. Maybe I'm trying too hard to find his killer. Or killers."

Francine shook her head.  
"No, there's definitely something odd about the house. I can't put my finger on it, though. And I don't think that, whatever it is, we'll find out about it tonight."  
She smiled.  
"And of course I'm right. I always am."

"Always?"  
Beaman returned the smile.  
"May I remind you of that incident at the Smithsonian six months ago?"

"No, you may not. And it's hardly my fault I can't tell a Tyrannosaurus Rex from an Allosaurus. Normal people over the age of five usually can't, you know?"  
Francine faked an indignant sniff.

"Oh, so I'm not normal?" Beaman asked in a mock offended tone.

Francine laughed.  
"No, thank god you aren't. Normal is boring."

"I'm not boring, then?"

"You're …"  
Francine stopped and straightened.

Beaman frowned.  
"What?"

He turned to face the direction she was looking.

"I think I saw something – there!"

There definitely was something moving in the bushes to the left of the house.

"Who …"

Before Beaman could finish his question, something came out of the bushes and moved over to the house. A man in torn, worn-out clothes. He moved slowly in an odd, shuffling way. Francine would have thought he was one of the homeless in and around DC but something about him struck her as odd. After a moment she realized it was his unusual paleness. He was so pale his face almost seemed to glow.

"Nosferatu," Beaman whispered.

She glanced at him.  
"I hope that doesn't make me Ellen Hutter …"

That got her a surprised look and a pleased smile from Beaman for catching his movie reference.

They both returned their attention to the man – at least, the person seemed to be male – approaching the house. He stepped on the porch and rapped on the front door. It swung open - as Francine imagined, with a soft creaking sound. There always was a soft creaking sound with doors like that.

"That's odd," Beaman said. "When I tried the door, it was locked."

"Maybe it was only stuck," Francine suggested.

"Maybe there was someone in the house all along."

They watched the man enter the house. The door closed behind him.

Francine didn't like it. The feeling of unease, of being watched from the house, was back full force.

Beaman nudged her in the side.  
"There's another one."

He pointed to the right of the house and sure enough another man, dressed and moving much like the first one, came struggling through the overgrown garden. He disappeared into the house, too. A third and fourth one followed him within the next ten minutes.

Then, for half an hour, nothing happened. No more people approached the house. No lights went on inside – not even the tiny flicker of a candle's flame. It looked as abandoned as ever.

"I don't think there's any more coming," Francine said checking her watch.

"Not unless they're fashionably late," Beaman pointed out.

"They didn't strike me as the kind of people who would know how to be fashionably anything …"

She picked up the phone and dialed Billy's number.

He answered on the third ring.

"Melrose."

"Billy, it's me. We saw four men enter the house half an hour ago. I thought we should let you know."  
She hesitated for a moment.  
"I can't put my finger on it but there was something strange about them."

"Strange?" Billy asked. "What do you mean?"

"It's not much, really. They were very pale and they moved in a funny way."

There were muffled sounds at the other end of the line. Then Billy again.

"Hang on a second, I'm putting you on speaker. Lee just got here."

Francine listened while he was giving Lee a quick rundown of what had happened since she and Beaman had left the Agency. Beaman raised his eyebrows at her.

"Lee's there."  
She gestured at him to get closer so he could listen to the conversation, too.

"You think those four you saw are associates of that Moran guy?" Lee asked.

"Maybe, maybe not," Francine said. "We don't even know if he's still alive. For all we know, those four could be a bunch of Satanists on their way to hold a black mass down in the basement."

Lee chuckled.  
"You better be careful then. They might choose you as their next virgin sacrifice. You sure do look the part."

Francine glanced at Beaman and rolled her eyes.  
"If they do, they're in for a major disappointment. It's been quite some time since I last qualified for that position."

Beaman smiled at her.  
"Four black books," he mouthed at her.

She almost laughed.

"So, how do you want to proceed?" Billy asked. "Keep watching the house and see when they come out again?"

"They already might have left again," Beaman pointed out. "There's no lights on in the house, at least none that we can see from here. And if they're still in there, well then I'd like to know where they are and what they're doing."

"You think they might be planning another hit?" Lee asked.

"I think that if Moran's still alive and hiding in that house we don't know who else might have stumbled over him."  
Beaman, Francine noticed, suddenly looked worried.  
"There's a lot of kids in this neighborhood. A house like that – it's like a magnet for them. Especially with Halloween just around the corner."

Francine hadn't considered this. He would know about such things, of course, since he was from the area.

"So you're suggesting searching the house," Billy said.

"Yes."

"No."  
Francine shook her head.  
"Too dangerous while those four weirdos are still in there."

"Of course I'm not going in there as long as they're still around."

"Right, because you're not going in there at all."

"And who else is going to search the house?" Beaman asked. "You?"

"Yes."

As much as she wanted to stay away from that house, she wanted Beaman to go in there even less. Especially not all on his own. The problem was – he probably felt the same about her.

"Just a moment, Billy."  
She covered the receiver's mouthpiece with her hand.  
"Please do me a favor and don't give me that 'I don't want you to put yourself in danger'-thing again. We've been through that a dozen times."

"What if they're still in there?" Beaman asked softly.

"I'll go around the house and check. If they're still there, I'll come straight back to the car."

"I still think you shouldn't go in there on your own."

If she was honest, Francine didn't want to go in there all on her own, either. She was going to keep her partner away from the house, though, no matter what. She didn't know why. It was completely irrational. It wasn't as if the house could hurt him.

_Just go with it. Go with what your instinct tells you. It's usually right._

Billy cleared his throat.  
"Are you two finished?" he asked.

Francine detected a hint of amusement in his voice. She was sure Lee was wearing his broadest grin. She uncovered the mouthpiece again.

"I'll go check out the house and search it if there's no one there. Beaman's going to watch my back."

"Fine. Call me again as soon as you're done."

"And don't let those Satan worshippers catch you," Lee added.

Francine wished he were right here with them so she could have kicked him in the shin.

* * *

The streetlights came on just as Francine was slowly making her way towards the house. The sun hadn't sunk below the horizon yet but it would do so very soon. Probably while she was still inside the house. She was almost hoping to find a light on at the back of the house.

She followed the trail of trampled grass and weeds Beaman had left earlier. Most of the windows at the back of the house were boarded up. No light there – Francine didn't find even the slightest hint of anyone being inside.

_It's what you thought – they must have gone out the back._

She checked the rest of the house, then turned back and tried the backdoor. The knob turned without offering any resistance. Odd. She had expected it to be rusted. The door swung open without a sound which was even creepier than the loud creak it should have made. It made her pause for a moment. Why would anyone go to the trouble of greasing the backdoor's lock and hinges but leave the rest of the house in disrepair?

_Easy. Repairing the house would be an obvious sight that someone's living here._

This house only seemed to be abandoned – she would have bet her career on it.

_The only question is: Is it Moran who's hiding here or those four guys?_

Francine nudged the door further open. It was dark inside – she could barely make out the interior. She would have to proceed with extreme caution. At least she didn't have to rely on her skills with a gun alone. It wouldn't do her a lot of good here in the dark. Having to go hand-to-hand was much more likely.

She slid through the door, closed it again behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did after a few moments she saw an old, cast-iron oven to her right, the kitchen sink next to the backdoor on her left, a three-legged table with several broken chairs in the middle of the room and cupboards with broken glass-panes lining the walls. All covered with a thick layer of dust and decorated with cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. Francine looked down and scanned the floor for footprints.

She didn't find any.

_Not good._

It meant no one had exited through the backdoor. So the four men still had to be somewhere in the house.

_Let's see …_

She set her foot down on the dusty floor and lifted it up again. It left a clearly visible imprint in the dust. So indeed no one had come through the kitchen.

It might have been smarter to return to the car. They all had agreed, after all, that those four might be dangerous, maybe even responsible for killing Parker. But now, her curiosity was piqued: Where were they? What were they doing here in the dark? And who were they? Just four guys who lived on the street and had found shelter from the night here?

Unlikely.

At least, the dust made it a lot easier for Francine to find them. All she had to do was to look for footprints and follow them.

Finding traces of the four men proved to be easier than she had thought. She silently proceeded from the kitchen to the dining room and from there to the hall, ignoring the cobwebs' feathery touch as best as she could. She wasn't exactly scared of spiders but she didn't mind at all for them and her to go separate ways. When she entered the hall, a floorboard creaked under her weight. Francine froze; held her breath, listened for sounds that might indicate someone had heard her and was coming for her.

Nothing.

Well, it was an old house, full of odd sounds and smells. If they had heard her, they might put the sound down to that.

She continued towards the front door and that was when she saw it: A broad trace in the dust that lead from the house's entrance to a door under the stairs to the second floor. It was impossible to tell how many people had walked here – or how often.

They must have gone down to the basement.

_That's why I didn't see any lights._

Francine frowned.

"What are they doing down there?" she murmured.

She remembered Lee's joke about the Satan worshippers. Suddenly it didn't seem quite so unlikely anymore.

Francine took in a deep breath.

_Never mind,_ she told herself. _Even if those four are Satan worshippers, they probably won't be armed except with knives … maybe. Just remember: You're the most dangerous thing in this house_.

Most likely. If Moran wasn't here and those four in the basement – for where else could they be? – weren't Parker's murderers.

She took a step towards the basement door and stopped again. Checking out the basement all on her own wasn't a smart thing to do. She really ought to get back to the car and tell Beaman what she had found out. And then, maybe, return here with him as backup.

_Backup?_ a tiny voice whispered in her mind. _Since when does Francine Desmond need backup? And besides – didn't you want to keep him away from the house?_

Well, then she simply would have to return to the car, call Billy, tell him what she had found out and let him decide how to proceed, right? Because that was what she was supposed to do.

_And that's how you're going to prove you're just as good an agent as Scarecrow?_

She was as good an agent as Lee. She knew that. Others did, too – Billy, Amanda, Beaman … But for everyone to see it, she would have to be at least twice as good as him. Maybe also take some risks he wouldn't take. Of course, that also meant things could go horribly wrong. If those four were Parker's killers and if they caught her she would end up just like him.

_Then don't get caught. Simple._

She did have a good chance of going unnoticed. It would be even darker down in the basement. Of course, that also meant she would be able to see even less, and be all the more likely to be taken by surprise.

_Ok, don't go down there then. But you can open the door and see if you hear anything. If they're really down there, they might be making some kind of noise. It's perfectly possible, after all, that they left again through the front door while you were back in the kitchen._

Well, she could do that. No harm in listening, right?

Francine crossed the rest of the hall and opened the basement door. Like the backdoor, it wasn't locked and the hinges had been greased. It opened without a sound.

All she could see were the top three steep stairs leading downward. The rest of them disappeared into pitch-black darkness. Damp, cold air hit her, carrying the unmistakable smell of mold. Francine stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on the doorframe, the other one on the doorknob and listened into the darkness. Nothing. Only the sounds of an old house. A soft creak. A low, scuttling noise that immediately made her think of rats. Dripping water, probably from a broken pipe. Soft footsteps approaching the house.

She straightened at that.

_Footsteps?_

She checked her watch. There were still almost twenty minutes left until the half hour she and Beaman had agreed on was up. It couldn't be him. Which meant that whoever it was, she didn't want to be seen by him. The tracks she had left would tell him she had been here – but not when exactly.

The footsteps were on the porch now, getting closer to the front door. They stopped. The doorknob started to turn.

Francine did the only thing she could do to get out of sight quickly: She stepped forward, down into the darkness, and closed the door behind her.


End file.
